


Puzzle

by beetle



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, Post-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 19:27:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beetle/pseuds/beetle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the slasthedrabble prompt, “Strange.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Puzzle

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: Set post-Inception. No spoilers.

Robert only notices him to wonder who would come to a bar, no matter how upscale, to do a crossword puzzle.  
  
  
His current hanger-on—the boring, gorgeous celebutante Alexandra Gaines-Moss—has gone to network, or reapply, or whatever it is women do in bathrooms that usually involves going in pairs or droves. So Robert watches the strange young man in the exquisitely tailored suit do his crossword puzzle with a gold Marc Cross pen. At his elbow is an empty glass.  
  
  
Robert waves a waiter over, gives instructions. Less than a minute later, the same waiter is unobtrusively placing another glass of what appears to be seltzer water at the young man’s elbow.  
  
  
Surprised, the young man looks up after the waiter, who’s already hurrying off, then looks around the bar, until his eyes light on Robert, who raises his own glass of scotch in a silent toast. The young man bemusedly does the same before going back to his puzzle.  
  
  
Within another five minutes, Robert’s bribed a name from the waiter, who knows nothing about Mr. A. Demski except he shows up two or three times a week to swill seltzer and do the  _New York Times_  crossword puzzle. He never has a date, and never leaves with anyone—though not for lack of interested parties. . . .  
  
  
Robert finishes his scotch and makes his way across the room, nodding brief  _hello_ s to acquaintances and shaking hands till he’s at Demski’s table.  
  
  
Demski looks up, seeming less than surprised. There’s a small smile playing about his lips.  
  
  
“You’re the only person I’ve ever seen doing a crossword puzzle in ink, let alone at a meet-market like  _L’Monde_ ,” Robert says.  
  
  
“Ah, but doing the puzzle in ink makes me think a little bit harder before filling in blanks willy-nilly. And this place happens to have the perfect white noise balance for solving puzzles,” he adds, then  _hmm_ s thoughtfully. “Could I trouble you for a ten letter word meaning  _more than one flesh eater_?”  
  
  
Robert answers without stopping to think. “That’d be  _sarcophagi_.”  
  
  
“Thank you, Mr. Fischer.” Demski’s already penning in the clue in, and Robert’s smile turns wry; he has the distinct feeling he’s passed a test.  
  
  
“You know who I am.” At this, Demski’s brows shoot up and he unfolds his newspaper to the front page. Robert’s face takes up most of it. “Ah.”  
  
  
“I’d imagine a lot of people know you by sight, these days.” There’s the barest suggestion of dimples. “Care to join me, Mr. Fischer?”  
  
  
“It’s ‘Robert,’ and yes.”  
  
  
“Arthur,” Demski says, holding out his hand as Robert sits. His grip is warm and firm, and sends a thrill down Robert’s arm.  
  
  
“ _Electricity_ ,” Arthur says softly, his eyes dark and direct.   
  
  
Robert’s own brows shoot up—and those dimples are more than a suggestion, now. Arthur’s eyes drop to the newspaper. “That was sixty-seven down . . .  _Tesla’s oeuvre_. It just came to me.”  
  
  
_Sort of like I did,_ Robert almost says. Instead he takes the newspaper.  _Electricity_  was apparently the final clue.  
  
  
“Well . . . that’s one puzzle solved,” Robert says, and Arthur grins.  
  



End file.
